


Fulfillment

by alistairweekend



Series: Heva Aeducan [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-28
Updated: 2015-02-28
Packaged: 2018-03-15 17:08:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3455150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alistairweekend/pseuds/alistairweekend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Heva Aeducan faces off against her brother at last, as she has wanted to do since the day she was exiled from Orzammar. Violence isn't incredibly graphic, but I warned just in case.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fulfillment

“The Ancestors have spoken. Lord Pyral Harrowmont will succeed the throne of Orzammar.”

The Assembly was silent. Heart in her throat, Heva Aeducan presented the magnificent Paragon Caridin’s crown to Harrowmont as he solemnly descended the stairs.

This didn’t feel right. Heva’s instincts screamed that she should be the one accepting the crown; it had been less than a year ago when more than half the deshyrs in the room had been in support of declaring her as queen. Their stares bored into her from all angles, trying to regard her with indifference despite her being a beloved princess, a friend, a supposed traitor, an exile, a Grey Warden.

She dared not look around, for she knew nearly all of them too well: Lord Helmi’s daughter Adal had been one of Heva’s dearest playmates as a child; she had participated in many a friendly debate with Lady Elmor; Lord Mathos had been a potential suitor.

So instead Heva kept her eyes steadily trained on Harrowmont, whom she had been especially close with. He was all but a second father to her, and to make everything all the more bittersweet, he had been one of her major supporters.

The old man smiled as he took the headpiece, murmuring a faint “Thank you, Lady Aeducan.”

Heva was stiff, face revealing nothing. She felt suffocated, paralyzed with how utterly wrong the entire situation was. Even though Harrowmont was a friend, by naming him king she was effectively ending the Aeducan line. Yet she wouldn’t –  _couldn’t_  – allow Bhelen to take the throne, not after what he had done.

All at once the memory of exiting the Aeducan Thaig to find Trian’s body awaiting her surfaced, and Heva’s resolve strengthened. Whether putting Harrowmont on the throne was an ultimately wise decision or not, this was long-overdue justice. She just had to accept the fact that herself becoming ruler was out of the question now.

Besides, Heva had other priorities now. There was the Blight, and by extension her duty as a Grey Warden. And there was also Leliana.

Heva turned her head ever-so-slightly and caught the red-haired woman’s kind, encouraging gaze, and she immediately felt calm. If there had been one thing she hadn’t expected, it was to fall in love with a human after being exiled, but there she was. When Heva was with Leliana, she felt that everything was going to be okay.

Harrowmont donned the extravagant crown and turned to face the members of the Assembly, who pounded their staves on the stone beneath them in acceptance. “All hail King Harrowmont!” they chanted, although some members who clearly didn’t agree with the decision were quieter.

Heva kept her eyes locked with Leliana’s, and her mouth slowly started to form into a smile, an invisible weight she hadn’t known was there lifting from her shoulders. Leliana smiled back, warm and gentle, causing Heva’s heart to swell.

“I won’t stand for this!”

The familiar voice rang throughout the chamber, and with that the weight crashed back down upon Heva’s head. She tore her gaze away from Leliana to see Bhelen for the second time since returning to Orzammar. His eyes had dark circles around them, some big sister part of Heva noted fleetingly, likely from long nights spent awake plotting to win the throne.

Face twisted in rage, he thrust his battleaxe into the air. “I will not let this usurper take the throne! To arms!”

Before Heva could react, an armed deshyr rammed her from the side. The Assembly grounds exploded in chaos.

The man who had tackled Heva raised a dagger in preparation to slice her throat, then howled in pain and rolled off her as an arrow pierced his gut. Heva silently thanked Leliana and got to her feet, scanning the room. Bhelen wasn’t immediately discernible. She tried not to focus on figuring out which nobles were her friends and enemies – it would be too painful to discover people she had once called her allies siding against her.

Right as she drew her blades, someone else targeted Heva. She deflected the blow in the nick of time, and used the moment in which her attacker fumbled for his weapon to stab him through the heart.

A frozen missile shot past Heva’s head and she heard a sound like glass shattering from behind her, followed by a strangled cry. Cheek stinging slightly from the close encounter, she caught a glimpse of Morrigan nodding quickly in her direction before turning to face more enemies.

Heva herself whirled around as well, fending off a couple more of Bhelen’s supporters. She began to wonder how many deshyrs would die today when she spotted her true target through the fray.

“Bhelen!” she shrieked in fury, cutting down one more foe before charging through the battle towards him. He was engaged with someone else, but he heard Heva and turned carelessly, giving his opponent the opportunity to drive their blade into his back. Not having a chance to register what had happened, Heva’s dagger plunged through a chink in the former prince’s fine armor and into his abdomen.

He stumbled back, choking on his own breath. Everything seemed to go still in the room, and with a thrill of terror Heva lunged forward to grab Bhelen as he fell to the ground. She stared down at her brother with wide, horrified eyes, feeling all her internalized hate, the rage she had nurtured and held all those long months, dissolve into panic.

“No, no, no, no,” she muttered, an agitated hand fluttering over him, unsure of whether to try and stop the bleeding or brush back his hair. “You weren’t— you weren’t supposed to die…”

It was a lie. Heva had believed she had wanted to kill him. She had spent hours imagining how satisfying her revenge would be, had practically bragged of her intentions to anyone who would listen.

But those dreams took place in a kinder world, where her father was not dead. There had been a deeper, unconscious promise of glory past avenging Trian – her father would welcome Heva back with open arms, denounce her exile, rename her as heir. She had been so naïve, without even realizing it.

Below her, Bhelen’s eyes were glassy, but they seemed to try and focus on Heva’s face. Mouth opening, he struggled to say something, but he only succeeded in coughing up blood. It stained his blond beard with an ugly streak of deep red.

Vaguely she wondered if he had intended to apologize or if he wanted to enforce his mad ambitions with his last words. But she knew it didn’t matter. All she could focus on were those eyes, remembering how she used to tease him about how pretty they were. How she would braid his pathetic teenage beard and decorate it with ridiculous bows and gems in his sleep. How he rolled his eyes at her obsessive fascination with learning of other cultures and how much time she spent holed up in the Shaperate. How she in turn stuck her tongue out at him and jabbed at his silly captivation with the art of war. How she stood up for him against the children from other noble houses who picked on him because he was the youngest, because he was last in line for the throne.

Bhelen took a wheezing, trembling breath, and then he was still. Heva cradled her little brother’s body in her arms and sobbed quietly against it, rocking gently back and forth as the politicians who had claimed her family and her title looked on.


End file.
